


Whine

by skarletfyre



Category: Team Fortress 2
Genre: Asphyxiation, Breathplay, Crying, Established Relationship, Guilt, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Shame, Strangulation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-06
Updated: 2015-09-06
Packaged: 2018-04-19 05:21:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,350
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4734158
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skarletfyre/pseuds/skarletfyre
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Spy has a secret kink that, until now, he has been more than happy to keep out of his fairly vanilla relationship with Sniper.</p><p>When an incident on the battlefield drags his shameful desires out of the dark little corner of his mind that he buried them in, it becomes harder and harder to ignore it, no matter how much he wants to. Sniper, unfortunately, notices that something is up. And he wants to help.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [fatmabari](https://archiveofourown.org/users/fatmabari/gifts).



> the original prompt: your smutfic involved breathplay and both of the characters feel guilty about it.
> 
> [fat-mabari](http://fat-mabari.tumblr.com) encouraged me and is entirely to blame for this.

It was odd that he no longer found this odd.

Spy lay very still, his breathing slow and soft in the early wakeful hours. All the better not to disturb the man sleeping beside him. Half-atop him, really, with his head resting on Spy's chest. Spy resisted the temptation to run his fingers through the sleeping Sniper's messy hair. That would only wake him, and Spy knew exactly how much the other man deserved his sleep.

Seven months. Seven months of this. Of waking up in a bed with a warm body by his side. Of sharing a bathroom. Of knowing that someone would be there for him at the end of the day, no matter what. Seven whole months of quiet comfort and affection, and Spy was only just getting over the idea that this was _real._ It wasn't a ruse or an act or a game. This was his life now. This was what it meant to be loved.

Perhaps roused by the increased heartbeat against his ear, Sniper stirred gently.

“Spook?” he asked, his voice rough with sleep. Spy leaned forward and smile softly into his hair.

“I am awake, _cher._ Did I disturb you?”

“What's the time?”

There was a cheap and battered battery powered alarm clock duct taped to the wall at the foot of Sniper's cot. Spy had to crane his neck to see it.

“Half-past six.”

Sniper grunted something that might have been profane and turned his face further into Spy's chest, nosing at the thin, dark hair he found there. Spy finally gave in to his impulses and brought a hand up, smoothing over the shaggy brown mess at the top of the Australian's head. It was in need of a trim. Spy made a mental note to remind him of that when they were both more awake.

“I will make the coffee,” Spy offered, his nails scratching lightly against the nape of his lover's neck. Sniper shivered slightly. His arm tightened around Spy's waist.

“Fi' more minutes,” he murmured.

Spy made a show of sighing dramatically, as if he would ever deny this man anything in the world. They would have to get up eventually, to preform and contractually obligated murders that had brought them together in the first place. All this, born from such death and destruction. Five minutes wasn't nearly long enough.

 _A lifetime, please,_ he prayed to anyone who might still hear him. _Simply a lifetime of this._

Caught up in the warmth of each other's bodies and the scent of each other's hair, the pair fell back to sleep in minutes. They did not stir again until the alarm went off and Sniper kicked it so hard it fell off the wall.

 

* * *

 

This was honestly too easy. Just _too_ easy. Embarrassing, frankly, from Spy's point of view.

The BLU Sniper had his back to the room, completely oblivious to anything and everything going on behind him. He was scoped in, frowning and mumbling as he went over every magnified inch of the battlefield, just waiting for the opportunity to shoot something. Completely exposed in front of the open window. Truly, it was a miracle no one had killed him already. But Spy, ever the gentleman, would graciously undertake this duty of ridding the world of an idiot for a few blissful minutes. For the good of the team, of course.

He started forward almost lazily, taking his time to approach the clueless marksman. He was close enough to hear what the fool was mumbling now.

“Give a man a break... stand bloody still, wouldja...”

For Heaven's sake, this must be a joke. Everyone had bad days on the field of course, but _this-_

Spy was just reaching into the inner pocket of his suit, fingers brushing the handle of his folded balisong when something crunched underfoot.

He froze.

Perhaps his opponent was not such an idiot after all.

_Merde._

The BLU Sniper startled as though he'd been shot, but remarkable he had not. He lowered his rifle, hitting the heavy barrel against the windowsill as he reeled back in alarm. Spy hurriedly pulled his knife out as the Sniper backed into him, but it was too late. The imbecile _collided_ with him, knocking them both off balance. Spy stumbled back with a curse and fumbled his attempt to flip the blade open.

“Bloody Spy!” the BLU growled, swinging his gun around like a club. It was an old trick, and one that Spy easily countered. He was not prepared, however, for the speed at which the jagged edge of the kukri came swinging at him. The larger blade caught his sleeve before he could dance out of it's longer reach and the balisong was knocked from his weak grip. It skittered uselessly across the wooden floor and stopped far, far out of his reach. Spy marked where it landed, but looked quickly back to his opponent. The Sniper's grin was ugly and crooked, too cruelf and too easy to read. He lunged, and this time Spy was ready.

Instead of backing himself into a corner at the end of the knife, Spy pushed forward, past the BLU's guard, and practically threw himself against the man. The enemy Sniper swore, staggered by the force of the impact. Before he had time to even think of recovering Spy reared back and punched him hard in the side of the head, immediately following through with a brutal kidney shot. The Sniper let out out a sickening _oof!_ and buckled. Spy was about to dislocate the man's elbow and disarm him when he charged forward. He caught Spy in the solar plexus with his shoulder, barreling forward and knocked the wind out of him as his back hit the wall. Spy retaliated by elbowing him in the spine. The Sniper dropped his knife with a grunt.

Spy slapped at the man's back then swore out loud as his legs were knocked out from under him, tangling as he fell. He grabbed the BLU's hair and dragged the hollering Australian down with him. They landed hard on the floor, continuing their brawl among spent shell casings and strategically placed potato chips.

The back of Spy's head hit the solid boards when he fell, dizzying him enough for the Sniper to gain the upper hand. The enemy was on top of him. Spy could see his knife glittering on the floor, only a foot or so out of his reach, but before he could decide whether or not to lunge for it the BLU Sniper had grabbed the front of his suit and lifted him. The impact of his head being slammed back into the floor made his teeth rattle. The second time, he bit his tongue. The taste of copper filled his mouth.

“You bastard,” the Sniper growled at him, slamming his head down again. “You sneaky, bloody bastard...”

Spy grinned up at him through the blood on his teeth, pleased that he could still see the faint scars that cut across his enemy's cheek and nose. A welcoming present, from the very first time they met. The Sniper's face contorted with hatred.

His hands closed around Spy's throat.

Spy's eyes widened in a way that would have been comical in any other situation. He was unable to stop himself from gasping, from pushing that little bit of sorely needed air out of his lungs in shock and alarm.

And, mortifyingly, _arousal._

_This isn't happening. Not like this. Mon Dieu, not like this..._

He clawed desperately at his attacker's wrists. The more viciously Spy struggled, the tighter the BLU's fingers became around his throat, and the harder his heart began to hammer in his chest. The twisting of his mask left raw fabric burns on his skin, adding another edge to the constriction of his airway. He could feel his face flushing. Both in shame, and from having his circulation cut off. Unfortunately the blood was circulating just fine in the rest of his body.

Spy squeezed his eyes shut as tight as he could. He had enough presence of mind to know he didn't want the Sniper to see the way his pupils were surely dilated, and that he absolutely did not want to see the face of the Sniper above him, snarling and choking the life out of him. Not _this_ Sniper. That would be too much. Too, too much, when he was already so close.

He was rock hard as the darkness began to creep at the edges of his vision. Spy wanted to scream. He wanted to fight and pummel his fists and wrench himself free, but there wasn't enough strength left in his limbs. He fought himself instead. Fought to keep the rapturous expression off his face as he struggled to pull in air through the tight, ruined tube of his windpipe. Fought to keep his hips from thrusting upward against the enemy's back, seeking any kind of contact and friction as the BLU's thumbs dug into his Adam's apple. Spy was losing every battle he was fighting, and he hadn't felt this fucking good in years.

His eyes rolled back in his head, body jerking and falling still as the last scrap of air and life was choked out of him. The last thing he was aware of was the sensation of his own fingernails biting through his gloves into his palms.

Spy died and Respawned with a raging erection and a sick feeling in his stomach.

He fled before any of his teammates could see him. Getting out of the Resupply room and darting into a quiet corner as fast and silently as he could was no easy task. Every step he took built friction against his straining cock, bringing him that much closer to humiliating himself in the middle of a firefight. As soon as he was reasonably sure he was alone, he wasted no time in shoving his trousers down his thighs to free his aching hard on. He didn't even bother to unbuckle them first.

Hunched awkwardly in a dark corner, Spy wretched as he quickly brought himself to orgasm, and quickly clapped a hand over his mouth to catch the sob that tore from his throat as he came. He tasted bile as his legs gave out beneath him. He didn't care that he was kneeling with his pants down, inches away from the wall spattered with his own semen. He needed to breathe. He _had_ to breathe.

 _Sick_ was the word that came to mind first, when he thought of the pleasure he'd just felt. _Disgusting. Sick._

There was something wrong with him, to like it as he did. The way it felt when an enemy – and it was only ever an enemy; men who hated him, men that _he_ hated – attempted to strange him to death. Never had any gentle, loving touch excited and electrified him so. To be held down and made helpess. The tightness, the pressure around his throat. The light-headedness. The fierce, blindingly hot pain in his chest as his lungs fought so hard to pull in air that would never reach them, or expel the air that was rapidly turning to poison inside him. It was _sick_ the way he loved watching the little white spots fire behind his eyes, a warning and a private fireworks display all wrapped into one. And as the blackness of unconsciousness and slow, eventual death began to claw at him, he knew that something in him was deeply, deeply flawed to embrace it as he did. Oh, but he loved it. Loved it, and hated himself.

It had been years since the last time someone tried to strangle him, much less succeeded. He had almost forgotten his weakness. His secret shame that had nearly cost him his life too many times to count. Well now it had. And he could only hope that the Respawn had claimed his body before the BLU savage could get a good look at him, and notice the tears on his face and the tent in his trousers.

Spy jolted at the sound of footsteps, far too close by for comfort. He remembered where he was, and what he was doing. What he had done. His pants were still pushed down around his legs, his bare ass and now flaccid cock still hanging out for all the world to see. He stood and quickly composed himself.

There were no tears left on his face, but Spy wiped his eyes anyway just to be sure. No one could ever know this weakness of his, he couldn't afford to let them see him like this. No one could ever know what a sick, pathetic freak he was inside. Sniper, _his_ Sniper, could never, ever know what a sick man he had allowed into his bed.

He forced his face into a neutral, menacing expression, exuding a confidence he didn't feel, and set off into battle once more. The sooner he forgot this the better. Nothing good could ever come of it.

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Mildly Dubious Consent tag because Sniper isn't really feelin the choking. hence the guilt.

Something was wrong with Spook.

Sniper had never seen him so agitated. Not that he was obvious about it, but you spend enough time with a man and you learn to read certain things about him. When he was happy or mad, or upset about something. Or pretending _not_ to be upset about something, which was exactly what Spy was doing now.

He wasn't eating. That's what really tipped Sniper off that something up. Spy was thin as a rail and ate like a bird, but no matter what he said he had a real weakness for food. As long as Sniper had known him, he'd never missed a meal that was worth eating.

Now, across the table, he watched as Spy pushed his pulled pork around the plate with his fork, staring despondently at it as he did so. His tie was crooked, and looser than he usually wore it. Another sign that something was eating at the usually immaculate Frenchman. Sniper nudged him gently under the table with his foot.

“You alright?” he asked, quiet enough that only the Heavy to his right would be able to overhear. The Ruskie was good about minding his own, too.

Spy jolted at the touch. His fork clattered noisily out of his hand.

Startled grey eyes met Sniper's over the table, and he was alarmed by the _fear_ in them. If he'd thought something was wrong before, now he knew for certain that something really wasn't right.

“What's the matter, love?” he asked, voice tinged with gentle concern. He reached across the table, but by the time his fingertips brushed the back of the other man's gloved hand, Spy had composed himself. He wasn't never gonna get used to that, the way Spy could just rearrange his face in half a second to look however he wanted people to think he felt. But it was too late for that. Sniper had seen behind the mask, and he wasn't going to just let it go.

“It is nothing,” Spy lied, smiling. He pulled out of Sniper's reach and picked up his fallen fork. “Merely lost in thought.”

“Must'a been some thought,” Sniper commented, but that was all he said on the matter for now. Whatever had rattled the Spook was obviously not something he wanted to discuss at the dinner table. It could wait.

 

* * *

 

When Spy didn't come to bed that night, Sniper was concerned.

When Spy didn't come to bed the next night, Sniper was worried.

When Spy didn't come to bed the night after that, Sniper was starting to get a little irritated.

How long had they been together? Seven, eight months? And whatever was bothering Spy, whatever had him so fucking on edge, he didn't feel like he could come and talk to him about it? Even after everything they'd been through, everything Sniper had come crying to _him_ about? Was it that Spy didn't trust him? Was he in danger? Something must have happened during the fight that day, because he'd seemed perfectly fine that morning. Hadn't he? Or had Sniper missed something then as well?

Whatever it was on his mind, he was doing a damn good job of playing it off like everything was normal. He attended meals and chatted with teammates – and picked idly at his food the whole time. He behaved well in battle, racking up an impressive number of points in record time – and quickly darted out of sight any time a team member got to close, or lingered too long in Respawn whenever one of the BLU's managed to land a hit. He endured Scout's yammering and snapped back with jibes of his own, he stood up to Medic's outrageous demands for tissue samples, he shared cigarettes with Soldier and Demo, he spent the evenings unsettling the Engineer... all the usual shenanigans. Except when the sun went down, he didn't come to find himself in Sniper's bed. And that hurt.

At first Sniper thought it was his fault. He must have done something to upset Spy or drive him away. It was always something he'd done wrong, that was the lesson he'd learned over and over again in his life, and naturally he assumed it applied here as well. It must have been something he said without realizing. Or something he _didn't_ do and should have. One of those, or all of those, and now he'd gone and ruined it all. The best thing he'd had in his life in ten bloody years, and now he'd pissed it away over something he couldn't even remember.

Sniper moped and despaired for a day and a half, too hurt and unsure to even stare at Spy from afar. But that was before he noticed all the little things Spy was doing even when he didn't know he wasn't being watched.

He'd developed a sort of tic about loosening and fixing his tie, it looked like. Over and over again, every time he had a moment to spare. And he was always picking at his mask and straightening his shirt, like it was all too tight or had somehow stopped fitting him right. Not likely that he'd gained weight. And all the breathing he was doing, now that was odd. Standing alone and sucking in great lungfuls of air, one after the other when no one was around to ask him what the hell he was doing. Sniper only caught him doing by chance, scanning the map through his scope trying to find where the BLU Scout had darted off to. First he thought Spy was finally following the Doc's orders and giving up his smokes. But there was some sort of expression on Spy's face that told him this was something else. He had no idea _what,_ but it was something.

And the fear in his eyes when Sniper had touched him under the table, though... That was something, too. Fear, and something else behind that that Sniper couldn't put his finger on until he really sat down and thought about it.

Guilt.

Spy looked guilty. The dirty, backstabbing, underhanded, lying Spook felt bad about something he'd done. And that was enough to make a knot of cold, hard anxiety settle right in the middle of Sniper's stomach.

Maybe it wasn't something he'd done after all. Maybe it was something _Spy_ had done. Something he was ashamed of. Too ashamed to talk to him about.

Sniper stopped privately pining after that realization.

If Spy had something to tell him, then he'd just have to come to him and say it. But he wasn't gonna spend another hour feeling sorry for himself over something that might not actually be his fault. They were adults. Adults were supposed to talk things out. And, he figured, with another two years on their contracts, there was no way Spy could avoid him forever.

 

* * *

 

Sniper had stayed up uncharacteristically late, figuring he had nowhere else to be when he accepted the Engineer's offer to sit in on a game of cards with some of the others. He didn't have half as good a poker face as Engie, or even as Demo, and he found his pockets significantly lighter at the end of the night. The couple beers had relaxed him though, and taken some of the weight off his shoulders. He was tired but feeling alright as he made his way out to his camper parked behind the base. Not exactly regulation, but it was home.

It was also unlocked.

Sniper frowned as he pulled open the door, peering suspiciously around for any sign of a threat before tentatively stepping inside. It was dark. There was a full moon out, but one of the curtains was pulled shut, keeping out more light than there ought to be. Sniper's frown deepened when he saw the dark shapes of things strewn about his floor. Someone had been in there. Someone, it turned out, was _still_ in there.

He could just barely make out the lumpy silhouette in his bed, but Sniper recognized it right away. He stood very still, waiting. When Spy didn't say anything, he cautiously took a few more steps into the camper and pulled the door shut behind him. He lowered himself onto the edge of the bed and put on a hand on the lump.

“Spook?” he asked softly. He realized the man was shaking.

Sniper quickly removed his hat and boots before climbing into the bed properly, draping the length of his own lanky body against the shivering mass beneath the blankets. He stopped short of wrapping an arm around him however.

“Can I turn a light on?” Sniper asked.

“ _Non.”_

Spy's voice was thick and muted. He was crying.

_Ah, Christ..._

“Can I open the curtains at least?”

A pause, and then, _“Oui.”_

Sniper reached up to the little window above his bed and pulled back the thin, sun-bleached curtains that had been bright and flowery yellow once upon a time. The moon glowed brightly overhead, illuminating the inside of the cramped camper. In the pale, cool lighting, Sniper could now see that Spy had pulled the blankets completely over his head, covering him up entirely. No wonder his voice sounded so faint.

Slowly, to give the other man enough time to stop him, Sniper grabbed the top of the covers and began to pull them down. Spy didn't resist.

He was still wearing his mask and gloves, Sniper could see, but it didn't look like he had a shirt on. He was all curled up on his side, knees pulled up to his chest. In the moonlight, tear tracks gleamed on his thin cheeks.

Sniper's first instinct was to comfort him. To wrap him in his arms and hold him tightly to his chest, just as Spy had done for him so many times before. He wanted to assure him that he was safe, and loved.

But he hesitated.

All the questions that had been circling his mind for the last days came rushing back. The hurt, the confusion. The fear. Sure, Spy was back in his bed, but that just wasn't enough anymore. He still didn't know what any of this was even about. He didn't know if he should be apologizing or be the one asking for an apology.

“What's goin' on, Spook?” he ended up asking, watching the way Spy's bare shoulder shook as he breathed. Spy took a long time answering. Too long. “Did something happen?”

“ _Oui,”_ Spy answered, finally, but it was so quiet Sniper almost didn't hear him.

“Something bad?”

Another lengthy pause.

“ _Oui.”_

Sniper took a deep breath and rolled onto his back. He felt Spy go stock-still against him. Honestly, he'd never seen the man like this before. He'd only seen him cry a handful of times, and even then he always took care of himself and got cleaned up after a few minutes. But this had been going on for _days._ And finally it had culminated in this: probably naked and crying under the blankets while curled in the fetal position in Sniper's bed. Something had to give.

“D'ya wanna talk about it?” Sniper asked, after a few more minutes of heavy silence. “Or- or tell me anything?”

Silence. Spy's breathing had evened out at least. Sniper fidgeted.

“M'not mad,” he said, when he couldn't bear the quiet anymore. “I mean, I _won't_ be mad if- if that's what you're worried about. If it's something that you... did, or somethin'...”

Spy let out a watery gasp of a laugh.

“ _Non, cher,”_ he said, turning slightly. “That is not it. If that is what you are worried about... _non._ There is no one else. There never has been.”

Well. That answered that question. Sniper breathed a little easier with that worry-weight lifted off of him.

“What it is then?” he pressed, still curious and concerned. He'd feel foolish later, but after he'd found out if and how he could help.

But Spy was silent again. Another gap of words passed between them, the only noise in the camper coming from their breath and the muffled chirp of crickets outside the thin walls. Sniper began to worry that Spy may have fallen asleep and taken the moment along with him. That he might never get answers, and Spy would wake up in the morning and try to pretend like none of this had ever happened. He was relieved they were talking again, of course, but he'd prefer not to leave this open ended.

But then Spy began to turn, rolling slowly beside him in the little cot. His back was too the wall down. Sniper could see his eyes in the moonlight, half-open and gleaming with still-drying tears. He was still quiet, however, for a few moments longer.

“I have a request to make of you,” was what he said when he finally spoke again, and Sniper raised his eyebrows in the dark. Not what he was expecting, but alright.

“Name it,” he said, and meant it. Spy shook his head.

“ _Non._ Let me ask before you agree, please. I would not want to hold you to something you are unwilling to do.”

Sniper hesitated, brushing off the flicker of wariness in the back of his mind. He wanted to help. He wanted to make this right.

“Alright then. Go ahead and ask.”

“It is of a personal nature. A... _sexual_ nature,” Spy said evenly. There was a hushed quality to his voice, something soft about it that wasn't quite a whisper. “There is something I want you to for me. _To_ me. You are free to refuse, of course. I will understand if it does not appeal to you, or- or you simply do not want to-”

Sniper's brow rose again. Did Spy want him to top him or something? Is that what all of this was about, because he was tired of doing all the work? It was true that Sniper preferred to bottom, letting his lovers have their merry way with him, but it wasn't like he was repulsed with the idea of reversing their usual roles. But it seemed like an awful lot of fuss for something simple like that, even from someone as dramatic as Spy.

“What I want is-” Spy's voice wavered and caught. He took a deep breath through his nose. “What I want is unusual. It is... forgive me, I have never asked, never- never known how-”

Sniper rolled over all the way, facing Spy fully, and put a comforting hand on his arm.

“It's alright, love,” he told him, trying to sound reassuring even though he wasn't feeling very sure of anything himself. _Unusual_ wasn't an encouraging word to tack onto a sexual request. What did Spy want him to do exactly, dress up in a frilly maid outfit? Call him “sir” or something? They'd been together for seven months, and known each other for going on two years before that. Sniper was fairly certain that if Spy had any funny or freaky quirks in the bedroom he'd have already known about it. “You can tell me. M'not going anywhere.”

Spy let out the breath he had apparently been holding in a hot rush against Sniper's face, but another long, uneasy silence passed between them. When Spy finally spoke, finally told the man he loved what he wanted from him, his voice came out in a low, wavering rasp.

“I want you to choke me.”

Sniper lay very still, letting those words sink in.

“You want me to _what?”_

Spy recoiled, curling in on himself again and pulling away. Sniper backpedaled.

“I- I could barely hear you,” he lied, “I'm sorry, I dunno if you said... what I _think_ you said- you want me to _choke_ you? Is that it?”

Spy nodded, barely more than a jerk of his head. But it was enough. It was a confirmation of Sniper's fears.

This was about as far from what he expected as it could get. From Spook, at least. Sniper wasn't a stranger to the idea of violence during sex, even in happy, healthy relationships. He came from a country where fist fights and eye-gouging were tantamount to foreplay after all. Strength and dominance was the Australian way. He'd just thought he'd gotten away from all that. It was never something that had appealed to him.

He didn't want to hurt Spy.

But he wanted to please him. To help him. This was obviously something that'd been eating at him for a long time, a nagging desire that had finally gotten the better of him. And it must be very important if it could reduce the strongest man Sniper had ever known to this crying wreck. He wondered how long Spy had wanted this. All this time, without saying anything. Was he afraid? Ashamed?

Spy was watching him intently, his pale eyes gleaming with unshed tears in the moonlight. Sniper shifted uncomfortably. He raised himself onto an elbow.

“This... this is something you _want?_ ” he asked, still unsure if he was understanding this right. “Like, really want me to do to you?”

“ _Yes,”_ Spy said, his voice filled with such desperation that it chilled Sniper to the bone. It almost sounded like he was _pleading_ for it.

 _What if I say no?_ Sniper thought suddenly, staring into Spy's wide, hopeful eyes. _He wants it so badly, what'll happen if I won't be a part of it? Could he do it himself?_

_Would he find someone else to do it for him?_

“ _There is no one else,”_ Spy had said. _“There never has been.”_

That didn't mean there never _could_ be, though. This was a big enough deal to drive Spy from their bed for almost a week. What if it was also enough to drive him into someone else's arms?

Sniper couldn't take the chance. He couldn't bear it.

“Tell me what to do,” he said, feeling a cold lump of resignation settle in his stomach. Spy let out a noise that sounded like a sob.

“ _Vraiment?”_ he said. The hope in his voice was heartbreaking. “Do you meant it?”

“Yeah, Spook. I'll do- I'll do whatever you need, alright? Just tell me how to start.”

Spy practically threw himself forward into Sniper's arms, nearly knocking them both off the bed from the force of his kiss. Sniper could feel the hot tears on his cheeks as he ungracefully pressed their lips together.

“ _Merci, merci beaucoup,_ I was so worried-”

Spy kissed him again while Sniper did his best to keep up and kiss back. But then Spy was squirming away from him, arranging himself on his back on the bed, hurriedly grabbing the pillow behind his head and throwing it to the floor. Sniper watched him nervously, uncertain where he was to fit in this position.

“How do you want me,” he asked. He tried to make his voice sultry, but his heart just wasn't in it. Spy pushed the blankets down to his waist.

“On top, _s'il vous plaît._ Straddling me.”

“D'ya want me to... ya know...”

Sniper jabbed a thumb back in the direction of his own ass.

“Only if you want to,” Spy said quickly, sitting up on his elbows. The blankets slid further down his hips and pooled in his lap. Christ, was he already getting hard just thinking about this? “It already means so much that you would indulge me in this, _mon amour,_ I wouldn't ask any more of you.”

Sniper considered for a moment, torn between faking bravado and backing out full stop. If he was going to do this, really be a part of this, he figured it'd be better to give it his all.

He shifted onto his knees and reached under the mattress, feeling around for the little bottle of medical lubricant they'd manage to snag from one of the supply shipments before Medic could notice. Not like the Doc was using it for actual medicine anyhow, if anything Scout said was to be believed. Once he had a hold on it, Sniper sat up on the edge of the bed and pulled off his clothes. He let them fall carelessly to the floor alongside Spy's suit and the discarded pillow, trying to digest the butterflies in his stomach as he kicked his boxers off.

 _This is for Spook,_ he told himself as he turned back around, carefully moving on top of his anxious lover. _You can do this for him, just like he'd do for you if you needed it._

Sniper sat astride Spy's slim hips, feeling the man's already hot and insistent erection pressing into his asscheek. Spy laid his hands reverently on Sniper's thighs, stroking through the soft hair and smiling up at him with hope and adoration. Sniper smiled back, put slightly at ease by the familiarity of this situation. He'd ridden Spy before, many a time. This wouldn't be different. This was the easy part.

“You gonna take the mask off?” he teased, but Spy hesitated. He shook his head.

“ _Non,_ if you don't mind. I would prefer to leave it on tonight.”

Sniper simply shrugged. 'Course he'd seen Spook without the mask before. He barely wore it anymore when they were together, so long as they were alone. But if he wanted to leave it on tonight, for whatever reason – along with his bloody gloves, it looked like – then Sniper wasn't gonna give him a hard time about it. That was the least of his worries.

He grabbed the lube and squeezed a healthy amount onto his fingers, warming it before reaching back behind himself. One of Spy's hands trailed up his side, gently encouraging him to lean forward. They kissed as Sniper worked himself open. It took longer than usual, thanks to the time they'd spent apart, but Spy was patient. If he suspected that Sniper might be stalling he didn't say anything. His thin fingers traced patterns on Sniper's arms and back, combing lightly through his short hair. His tongue darted between Sniper's teeth and Sniper let out a genuine moan. His body was responding now, to this part at least. He rolled his hips back against his own fingers, feeling the heat beginning to pool between his legs. Spy's hands moved back to his hips again as he murmured sweetly up at him. Finally, Sniper reached even lower back and guided Spy up into him.

They moaned together. Spy's head fell back against the mattress as Sniper pushed himself up, sitting up on his knees to look down at him. For a little while all they did was move together, just like they'd done a hundred times before. For a little while, Sniper could pretend that this was all they were doing.

“Put your hands around my throat,” Spy instructed in a murmur. Sniper's eyes snapped open. He stalled in his movements for a half second, caught off guard by the directness of the request, and looked down at Spy in surprise.

His hands were already resting flat on Spy's chest to support himself. Sniper kept them there for a moment, feeling the way his lover's heart hammered under his palm. Steeling himself.

Spy's skin turned to gooseflesh as Sniper's hands slid upward, hesitating when fingertips reached prominent collar bones, and then moving past and all the way up. The grooves of Sniper's thumbs settled right over the hollow of Spy's throat. Spy shuddered beneath him.

Sniper's hands were large enough to circle entirely around Spy's long neck, fingertips meeting fingertips around behind his head. Experimentally, he tightened his grip.

The man beneath him gasped and jolted, making Sniper gasp as well as his hips bucked upward.

“Is this alright?” Sniper asked, his voice shaking as he loosened up to let Spy reply. Spy groaned.

“Harder,” he rasped. Sniper covered his cringe with a nervous smile. He readjusted his hold and tightened his grip once more. Spy's mouth fell open.

He didn't like the way Spy's throat felt in his hands. The way his Adam's apple bobbed violently when he tried to swallow, the way his voicebox vibrated when he moaned. It felt wrong. It felt like he was hurting him.

But the harder he squeezed, the happier Spy seemed to be. His hips jerked, thrusting arrhythmical up into him, making Sniper jolt with bolts of brief, unpredictable pleasure. Even that wasn't enough to distract him from what he was doing.

“Harder,” Spy would plead whenever he tried to let up for even a moment. “Please, _harder.”_

And the sounds he was making, _Christ..._

Sniper moved his own hips half-heartedly, trying to enjoy this, trying to find some pleasure for himself in what he was doing for Spook. But it was hard to take joy in listening the man he loved gasping for air beneath him, clawing at the blankets, alternating between limp as a rag doll and so tense Sniper feared he might strain something.

“ _Harder,”_ Spy urged for the fourth time, his voice coming out wrecked and cracked. He looked up at Sniper with half-lidded, bliss filled eyes. Tears clung to his eyelashes, sparkling like dew caught in a spiderweb in the light of the full moon. His nails were digging into Sniper's forearms, holding him there and making him stay, but if anyone were to walk in them now it would look like he was doing anything but. Sniper swallowed hard. His own breath was short by this point. His chest was tight as he complied, increasing the pressure around Spy's throat. Spy throbbed inside him, but his own cock was already going soft.

Never had he seen such an expression of bliss and surrender on his lover's face as he practically strangled the life out of him. Thin, high gasps and wet little choked noises kept coming from his mouth. Spy's lips moved like he was trying to speak, or scream, but no coherent sounds were coming out of him anymore. Just gurgles and cut-off moans and strained, broken _whines._ His eyelids fluttered weakly up at the ceiling, fuzzy and unfocused and impossible to look away from. The cold sweat covering his body made his skin glisten in the dark, his bare chest shimmering and pale and contrasting all the more with his flushed face. The tears had finally fallen. They left trails down the sides of his eyes, staining the fabric of his mask.

Sniper felt sick to his stomach.

He was relieved when Spy's constricted breathing began to pick up, coming out in a series of strangled _oh, oh, ohs_ , his hips jerking spasmodically as he neared the edge. Finally, finally, his mouth opened wide in a silent cry as his back arched clean off the mattress. His nails sliced through his gloves and dug deep enough to draw blood. Sniper felt the hot, slick rush filling him as Spy came, slipping out halfway through from the franticness of his movements.

 _Finally,_ it was over.

Sniper let go of Spy like he'd been burned, flexing his hands opened and closed to get the stiffness out of them. The terrible, shuddering inhale that Spy took made his whole body shake.

For a few minutes Sniper just sat there with come dribbling out of his ass, watching Spy breathe. Making sure he still could. Spy kept his eyes closed as he gasped for air, taking it all in and out through his mouth like a drowned man. Sniper decided he was glad Spy had kept the mask on after all. He didn't want to see if he'd left any marks.

“You good, love?” Sniper asked when he couldn't stand the sound of breathing any longer. His voice cracked shamefully. A slow, satisfied grin spread across Spy's face as he nodded. The smile slid away just as slowly, however, when he opened his eyes. Sniper must not have composed his face as well as he thought.

“Are _you_ alright, _cher?”_ Spy asked, in his faint, broken voice. He looked down at Sniper, at the point their bodies met. Sniper's cock rested softly on his stomach, very obviously not having been involved in anything at all. Spy's face fell. “You- you didn't-?”

Sniper bit his lip and looked away.

“S'alright,” he said, not feeling alright at all.

He tried to put on a brave face, for Spook, tried to be there for something that meant so much for him. He tried so hard to find the appeal in it in the moment, but now that it was over... Sniper felt wrong. He felt like he'd just done something _wrong._ He loved Spy, more than he'd loved anyone before. You weren't supposed to hurt the ones you loved, he'd always thought. He'd just never thought about if they _asked_ to be hurt.

When he looked back to Spy's face, all he saw there was despair.

“You didn't have to,” Spy said, reaching up to touch his face lightly with a shaking hand. “Sniper, _mon amour,_ I told you that you didn't have to-”

“It's alright,” Sniper said again, not wanting to ruin this moment any more than he already had. “It'll be okay, Spook, I mean it. This was good for you, yeah? Did I do it right?”

“You were perfect,” Spy assured him, still looking worried and thoroughly unconvinced. “Absolutely wonderful. I am... I don't have the words to express how much this meant to me. Thank you, _cher._ _Merci beaucoup._ I will not ask this of you again.”

Sniper sighed in relief before he could catch himself, but covered it with a shaky laugh. He leaned into Spy's touch on his cheek.

“Glad I didn't mess it up,” he said as he carefully rolled off of Spy to lie beside him on the narrow cot. “I'd've hated to ruin something so important.”

“You did nothing wrong,” Spy told him, softly, rolling into his arms. He kissed Sniper on the lips, and then on the shoulder as he snuggled into his chest. Sniper wrapped his arms around the smaller man automatically, holding him close.

This was always how he wanted them to hold each other. Softly. Gently. With hands full of reverence and respect and love. This was all he ever needed.

Neither of them cared about the mess they'd left right now. Spy was clearly exhausted, and this whole ordeal had taken more out of Sniper than he'd thought he had to give in the first place. But it was over. He'd done it. They'd made it through this, together. And if he had his way, they'd never look back.

But even in the back of his mind, he knew that likely wouldn't be the case. This had happened, and it couldn't be forgotten just because he wanted it to be. Things were going to be different.

But not right now.

Right now, they were going to sleep. And whatever the future held, it would still be there in the morning.

Spy was already asleep, breathing freely and softly when Sniper finally closed his eyes. That was good enough for him.

 


End file.
